Bittersweet Symphony
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: A short fic - a ficlet? Lucas contemplates life, love and his colleagues. *Spoilers up to the end of S8*


**Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.**

**Spoiler Warning: Up to the end of S8.**

**A/N: Something short, and a bit different, I hope. (And probably not to everyone's taste.)**

* * *

'_Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life_

_**Bittersweet Symphony, The Verve**_

---

You drag your tired eyes away from the computer screen and look across the Grid towards Ruth. She and Tariq are deep in conversation, two dark heads close together as they attempt to decipher the indecipherable. You watch them for a few moments, wondering what brought them here, what keeps them here. Perhaps it's the same thing that keeps you here; the lack of anywhere else to be, anything else to do. And, maybe for Tariq, the shine hasn't completely worn off this job yet, although it must be tarnished now.

Ruth's presence is more of a conundrum. She'd tried to break free from this world, find a new life, but the ties had not been completely severed and she'd been drawn back in, literally kicking and screaming.

You like Ruth; she intrigues you. Her intelligence, her warmth, her compassion, and under that seemingly vulnerable exterior, a steely strength. She reminds you of Elizaveta. The thought of your ex-wife triggers a familiar, twisting pain in your gut. It still hurts, the loss of her, the loss of your marriage.

You're still mourning.

And you try not to think of another woman you're mourning. A woman who was the complete opposite to Elizaveta. A woman who betrayed you, your colleagues, your country. A woman who still fills your dreams, and your nightmares.

You can't explain Sarah, not even to yourself. She just…happened. You went from emotional numbness to euphoria, in a heartbeat. The delusion that it was just _professional_ soon evaporated. You were drawn in, wanting, _needing_, to believe her declarations of love. But it was fake, like so much of your life.

You were emotionally mugged.

You'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much; if it didn't feel like you'd been eviscerated.

You push away the darkness and direct your thoughts back to Ruth.

What little you know of her background, the reasons she left, you gleaned from Jo but she'd been reluctant to say much. Ros had been even less forthcoming. You'd tried asking Malcolm but he would only say that she'd sacrificed everything in order to protect someone she cared deeply for. You deduced the 'someone' was Harry. And that's as far as you'd got.

Your mind takes another unwelcome detour.

Jo, Ros, Malcolm, Adam, Connie, Ben. All had been on the Grid when you returned; now they are all gone. The only consolation is Malcolm made it out alive despite the odds being stacked against him. And the odds are probably stacked against you, too. Which reminds you the death benefit nominee form HR sent you still needs to be completed and your will updated.

(You find your own thought process grimly amusing and have to make a conscious effort to stop the smile you can feel forming.)

You refocus on the puzzle of Ruth's departure from the Service. You could ask her, even ask Harry - if you were feeling particularly reckless - but you know your questions would be unwelcome and highly intrusive. You could dig about in the archives, there's bound to be a file somewhere, but you can't bring yourself to do that so you content yourself with a little private speculation.

It's clear to you, clear to anyone who bothers to pay enough attention, that Harry cares for Ruth, profoundly, and feels responsible for the emotional battering she has been subjected to.

Sir Harry Pearce.

The Colossus of the Grid.

(But this is not a description to be voiced in his presence.)

Someone, you don't recall who, or at least you don't try to, once told you Harry had a heart of stone. You believed it, to begin with. Then you realised that such a stark statement didn't, _couldn't_, apply to Harry. He's far more complex than that. Multilayered, multifaceted. A bastard when it's called for, and occasionally when it isn't.

(If there's an instruction manual for Harry, Ruth is probably the only person who can understand it.)

Harry and Ruth, Ruth and Harry.

If ever two people were made for each other, it's them.

(And it seems not all the romance has been beaten out of your heart.)

You analyse what little else you know about Harry and Ruth.

You know Harry has an ex-wife and children, lurking somewhere, deep in the background. If he's had any other significant romantic entanglements, he's been very discreet, or burned the evidence.

(When you'd first arrived on the Grid, you'd suspected there was something going on between Harry and Tessa but then you realised her barely concealed antagonism towards him wasn't a cover for simmering lust but was…barely concealed antagonism.)

As for Ruth, she has…

Harry.

(And MI5.)

And Harry has her.

Despite all that has happened.

The answer to your original question has presented itself to you with startling clarity.

The reason you are here, all of you, is each other.

And that realisation helps your shattered soul begin to heal.

_The End_

**

* * *

Thanks for reading. **

**Additional A/N: For anyone who is interested, this emerged from a number of ideas/scenarios that may eventually turn into a follow up to 'Endings and Beginnings'.**


End file.
